


I'm just here for the menace

by wizpendragon



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, M/M, Maybe a one-shot, Pre-Slash, Rating may change if I write more, also kind of dystopian i guess, but who knows really
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-31
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-23 11:14:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23410654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wizpendragon/pseuds/wizpendragon
Summary: This is a modern-ish? Dystopian? Fantasy? Setting. Everything is still pretty similar to the actual Witcher universe though. This spawned from the idea that Jaskier advertises chocolate in a modern setting, and it got dark and gritty. Read notes for more info.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 2
Kudos: 36





	I'm just here for the menace

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so. I never, ever thought that this would be the first thing I write for Geraskier. An AU of all things. I don't do AUs (except I do, all the time, but I'm in denial, so please leave me be).
> 
> I'm not sure if I'm going to write more for this, I'm mostly testing the ground for this setting and I might leave it at this, but I have a couple ideas for future happenings as well, so... we'll see.
> 
> If I do write more the rating may change and warnings might be added.
> 
> Title inspired by Young & Menace by Fall Out Boy because I'm bad with titles and I'm listening to Fall Out Boy right now.
> 
> Thank you to [Marti](http://mylovelywitcher.tumblr.com) for encouraging me to write.. well, maybe not this, but something based on that fun prompt. ♥

Geralt arrives at the remote coffee shop before the agreed meeting time. He likes to scope out unfamiliar places properly, and it isn’t every day that he gets dubious invitations to crappy coffee shops at the arse-end of the city. He tells himself that he is only here for the potential job offer, unusual as the means of hiring him might be, and not out of idle curiosity and because he has nothing else to do. A witcher always has something to do in times like these. Well, any other witcher, maybe…

Geralt shoves open the grimy door with more force than necessary and steps from the dirty street into a small, dingy room. Not much light makes it through the filthy window panes and the single dim lamp above the bar doesn’t help the situation much. Not that it matters to Geralt, he can make out the café’s interior fine. Scuffed tables and worn-out chairs line the tiled floor that hasn’t seen much effort to keep it clean judging by the dried mud and water stains collecting in the aisle between the tables. The place is empty except for a couple of gloomy figures silently nursing their drinks, listening to music on their headphones or perusing battered newspapers. Geralt has no illusions about being approached by a waiter, so he orders a black coffee with sugar directly at the bar and finds a seat at a table as far away as possible from any other customers.

In the twenty minutes that Geralt waits he leaves his coffee untouched, instead watching intently for anyone entering the coffee shop or loitering around outside, but only an older man in run-down clothes even comes near the doors, not even raising his head to glance at Geralt when he comes inside and shuffles over to a table near the bar.

When a young man tentatively pushes open the door and steps inside looking around cautiously Geralt immediately knows that that’s who he’s been waiting for. The brightly dressed figure clearly doesn’t belong here, he stands out like a peacock among the muddy colours and grime surrounding him. There’s no way this kind of place is his usual haunt. Dirty business, then. Geralt resigns himself to patiently refusing another assassination of a rival or somesuch. The young man spots Geralt and makes a beeline over to his table without sparing so much as a glance at the other customers or the sorry state the place is in.

He stands directly in front of Geralt, a triumphant little smile curling his lips.

‘Geralt of Rivia.’ he says. ‘You came!’

Recognition dawns on Geralt then. He has seen this man’s face before, all around even smaller towns, smiling down at him from advertising posters, he’s heard his voice contorted through decrepit radios and the quality sound systems of big city shopping centres alike. He refuses to admit to himself that it’s a voice he quite enjoys hearing, and a face that’s nice to look at. Soft, pretty. Geralt isn’t surprised that someone like that would have enemies he needed to discreetly be taken care of. But Geralt isn’t easily swayed by fame, nor beauty and he decides to keep his observations to himself for now.

‘I’m afraid you have the advantage on me.’ he says, self-consciously stuffing the half-eaten bar of  _ Rittersporn _ chocolate deeper into the pocket of his worn leather jacket. Perhaps not a dead giveaway, but feigning complete ignorance would be harder if his counterpart discovered the very product he advertises on Geralt’s person.

The young man smiles broadly at him and extends his hand.

‘I’m Jaskier,’ he introduces himself, ‘I’m a-- well, I guess you could say I’m a humble performer, seeking to brighten these dreary days with my art.’ There’s a mischievous glint in his eyes as he indicates a small bow. He lets go of Geralt’s hand and slides into the seat opposite of him without waiting for an invitation, waving over a waitress who takes his order with a giddy expression, sweeping off to the kitchen to brag about her semi-famous customer, no doubt.

Geralt grunts. ‘And what,’ he asks, raising his eyebrows with the question, ‘does a  _ humble performer _ such as yourself want with a lowly thug like me?’ he sneers.

Jaskier drums his fingers on the wood of the table and hums. ‘I have a proposition for you.’ he says.

There it is. Geralt decides to play dumb for now and raise his eyebrows even further. ‘You need a monster taken care of? You could’ve just contacted me the usual way if that’s the case, no need to drag me out here.’

The waitress arrives with Jaskier’s order, a large, steaming cup of milk coffee with a cute little design decorating the foam on top. He flashes his teeth at her in a grateful smile and she blushes, scurrying off again. Jaskier waits until she’s out of earshot before turning back to Geralt and schools his face into an expression of feigned nonchalance, but Geralt can feel the tension and excitement radiating from the man seated opposite of him.

‘Where were we?’

‘A monster?’ Geralt prompts, picking up his own cup. The tepid liquid hits his tongue unpleasantly and he tries not to make a face as he swallows. Too much sugar, and still somehow too bitter. He squints at Jaskier.

‘Ah, yes. Except that’s not what I want from you.’

Geralt is growing more uncomfortable and annoyed by the minute. ‘What, then?’ he asks, impatience seeping into his voice.

Jaskier seems unfazed. He leans closer to Geralt across the table. ‘ _ You _ ,’ he says, pointing at him, ‘have made quite the name for yourself, do you know that? That little stunt of yours in Blaviken? All the tabloids talked about for  _ weeks _ .’

Geralt doesn’t reply. He’s well aware of the headlines and the reputation they have earned him. Not that people had sung his praises before, but now… it was a bit harder to not draw looks when everyone and their mother had seen his face next to the winning title of ‘The Butcher of Blaviken’. He doesn’t need a flashy fool reminding him of it. Geralt’s patience is wearing thin.

‘Get to the point.’ he growls through his teeth. “What. Do. You. Want.’ It’s less of a question and more of a demand.

Nervous excitement is radiating off of Jaskier in waves now, and it’s putting Geralt on edge.

‘I want you to take me with you on your next adventure.’ he declares.

Geralt blinks. This is not what he expected.

‘No.’ he says.

Jaskier seems to have been prepared for this answer because he doesn’t look disappointed in the least, instead an expression of determination is settling on his face.

‘Why not?’ he challenges.

‘ _ No _ .’ Geralt repeats, moving to get up and out of this shithole before anyone recognises him and starts a fight - or worse, tries to interview him.

But Jaskier isn’t that easily deterred, jumping up first and pushing Geralt back down into his chair.

‘You haven’t even finished your coffee.’ he says, gesturing at Geralt’s half-empty cup. ‘You might as well hear me out while we’re here.’

Geralt grunts in discontentment. He’s about as keen on finishing this piss brew as he is on hearing Jaskier out, but some weird impulse moves him to sit back down and glare at Jaskier, watching a satisfied little smile flick over his face as he, too, takes his seat again.

‘Now,’ Jaskier starts, picking up his cup again, ‘I’m sure you’ll admit that your business could do with a little bit of… shall we say, positive exposition? I do hear people talk, you know. I can help you with that. In exchange you just need to let me tag along for a while.’

Jaskier shoots him a know-it-all look over the rim of his cup as he takes another sip of his coffee. The stupid little scarf around his neck is tempting Geralt to strangle him with it, but he is right. While his profession is already off-putting to most, Geralt’s strikingly strange and off-putting appearance makes it even harder for him to land a contract, even with monster attacks becoming more and more frequent in the bigger cities farther from the barely inhabited infested Deadlands where people have learned to live with them.

Jaskier is looking at him expectantly.

‘No.’ Geralt says, again. ‘It’s dangerous.’

‘Oh, bollocks!’ Jaskier laughs. ‘I’ll just watch from the sidelines while you do your.. your  _ thing _ . I’ll gather some material and write a song about you. You won’t be able to save yourself from potential customers and I’ll have something that gets the crowds interested in me again. We’ll both come out of this little arrangement with new contracts and smelling like..’ he sniffs the air around Geralt and wrinkles his nose. ‘Whatever it  _ isn’t _ that you’re smelling of right now.’

_ Aha _ . Geralt ignores the jibe and fixes Jaskier with mocking glare. ‘So, that’s it. You  _ seriously _ think glueing yourself to the heels of an ill-reputed monster hunter is going to save your dwindling fame?’

Jaskier looks taken aback that he has picked up on his slip of tongue and Geralt smiles nastily.

‘Tried everything else, have you? People getting sick of scandalous affairs and chocolate commercials?’ he scoffs and shakes his head. This time Jaskier doesn’t stop him when he slaps a bill on the table and gets up to leave. A little ways from the door Geralt turns around again, addressing the young performer one more time.

‘You think you’re smart now, with this little scheme of yours. But none of that is worth shit out there, when you face  _ real _ monsters. There is no “side-line”. There is no safety. You’ll come out of it smelling like blood and shit, or not at all. Go home, kid, write another song about heartbreak and whores.’

And with that he turns and leaves, ignoring the looks of distaste that follow him out onto the street.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Toss me a comment and/or a kudo if you like, it's much appreciated!
> 
> Check out [my Geraskier playlist on Spotify](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/6PiO94FCjBiayHQO5oYvhL?si=OjvPB50KS2GyG_-d8fCTLw)! (It's still growing, it's fairly new. I got hit with the Witcher train fairly recently.)


End file.
